


The Night Before Christmas

by pieta (ManicMoose)



Series: Full House 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Humor, M/M, Post-Series, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-23
Updated: 2011-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicMoose/pseuds/pieta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is plenty of stirring all through the house, and poor Bobby gets an informative eyeful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Before Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> A timestamp from the Full House 'Verse. Established relationship. Outsider POV. Future!Fic (aka Shameless Domestic!Fic). Smutty McSmut with a liberal scoop of Schmoop. This takes place about fourteen years before Captain Oblivious, Jr. (For those of you who are curious; when Mary is 11, Johnny is 6 and Ellie is 3. And Sam and Dean are 39 and 43, respectively. Seriously folks, I have this all worked out to a pathetically extreme level.)

    The room is warm and toasty, the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree the only light besides the fire crackling softly in the stone fireplace; the scents of pine and smoky cedar mingling together pleasantly. Sam is sprawled contentedly on the living room couch, enjoying the cozy glow of the fire and nursing his liberally laced eggnog, feeling smugly self-satisfied with the speed at which he preformed his ‘Santa’ duties- stockings on the mantle filled to bursting, milk and cookies ravaged enthusiastically- when Dean unceremoniously collapses onto the other end of the sofa.

   “Well, Ell’s finally down for the night. I was beginning to think she was never going to go to sleep.” Dean announces tiredly, lifting Sam’s feet into his lap and swiping the nog in one deft move. Sam opens his eyes and grins drowsily up at him, taking a moment to enjoy the view. Edges all softened by firelight and the tingly heat of the alcohol, Dean looks surprisingly young and peaceful, and so beautiful that Sam has to catch his breath before replying.

    “Well you do make an adorable Mr. Mom. She was probably getting a kick out of you being adorably flustered and anxious. You know how she loves attention.” Sam rubs the lingering drowsiness out of his eyes, and props himself up a bit with one arm behind his head. The fire is still burning bright and strong, and the flickering light of it dances across Dean’s face, and brings out the mischievous twinkling of his eyes. He finishes off what’s left of Sam’s drink in one long swallow, and then sets it aside on the coffee table before flopping his head against the couch-back, tilted to look down toward Sam.

    “Remind me again what drove us to have children?” He prompts as his hands come up to wrap around Sam’s feet, and start kneading them idly. Sam lets out a happy moan of pleasure, wiggling his toes and pushing his feet up against Dean’s capable fingers encouragingly before responding teasingly.

    “Well Dean, I’m going to go with poor birth control methods on your part, followed later by deluded complacency caused by high levels of adorable.” Dean frowns, considering, rocking his head back and forth as he deliberates. Then he shakes his head and announces his verdict mock-seriously.

    “Nah, we were totally possessed by something, I’m telling you. Something possessed us, used us to have spawn, and then booked it the hell out of dodge as soon as it realized all the crying, vomit and lack of sex that was involved.”

    “Oh really. I see. And it did this twice?” Sam plays along, mouth twitching as he struggles to hold back a grin. Dean gives him an arched look, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips too, and he pats the top of Sam’s left foot condescendingly.

    “I never it was a smart something that possessed us, Sammy.”

    “Oh, of course. It all makes sense now.” Sam nods solemnly.

    “Damn right it does. I’m a freaking genius.” Dean grins smugly, and then draws out a dramatic put-upon sigh. “Not that it matters much now. We’re stuck with ‘em. Guess we’ll just have to make the most of it. And of whatever little freedom we can sneak on the sly.” He leers up at Sam suggestively as his massaging hands suddenly take a detour away from Sam’s feet to slide slowly up the long length of Sam’s legs. “In fact, I think I have one more present left to give you.”

    “What? Dean!” Sam whines unhappily, flailing briefly as he struggles to push himself up, the moderate amount of alcohol he’d imbibed throughout the evening clearly having taken effect. “We promised just three gifts each! I mean, after last year’s fiasco I thought you would- Oh. _Oh_." Sam stops and swallows, staring down at where Dean has graduated to busily working on his fly while he’d been preoccupied with being indignant. He lets himself settle back down against the arm of the couch with a soft huff. " _That_ kind of present."

    "Geez Sammy, and people say you’re the one with the brains in the family? I'm a little insulted." Dean smirks as he works Sam's pants and shorts down over his thighs. Then his hands are on Sam's cock, stroking gently, just a ghost of pressure all around, and Sam is having a very hard time thinking clearly about anything much at all, besides how very nice Dean's hands are, and how very nice he looks in the firelight; close enough to Sam's dick that Sam can feel Dean's little puffs of breath against it. Also how very good it would feel if he would just lean in that inch or so more, and slip those gorgeous lips around Sam; how good it would be to slide that hot wet heat. “Of course, maybe they’re talking about your downstairs brain? Because that, on the other hand, sure is big.” Dean grins wickedly up at Sam through his lashes, before glancing back down at his cock hungrily. Then his tongue is licking a hot little path across the head of Sam’s cock, down the shaft, and back up again. Sam’s upstairs brain makes one valiant final stand before going into complete meltdown.  

    “What about… _Oh God. …_ Bobby?” Sam gasps semi-coherently.  Dean pulls back minutely, big rough hand continuing to pump Sam just the way he likes it, with a bit if a twist towards the head.

    “Nah, I don’t think Bobby’s that high or mighty. But he did go to bed _hours_ ago. He's an old man now, remember?” Dean snorts softly before his voice drops down into a rough growl. “Now just shut up and let me fuck you." And all Sam can do is nod breathlessly, eyes glazing over as Dean leans back in and swallows all of him down at once. He can't help but groan, fighting to keep his eyes from drifting shut because damnit, he wants to watch this happening. He reaches a hand down to rest against the side of Dean's head, soft bristly hairs tickling against his palm. Dean's tongue does something amazingly wicked that has Sam's eyes rolling back into his head helplessly for a second, and he can feel Dean grinning around his cock when he lets out a loud whimper.

    When he manages to open them again, Dean is struggling, rather futilely, to undo the buttons of Sam's shirt one-handed, eyes closed tight while he works his tongue and mouth enthusiastically down on Sam’s cock. He lets out a little hum of frustration that vibrates around Sam’s cock, and frying any brain cells had been left still functioning. Sam chuckles brokenly, moving to help him with slightly shaky hands. They manage all the buttons between the two of them, and then Dean’s free hand is sweeping up along the smooth hard planes of Sam's chest to roll a nipple between his fingertips, stroking over silky heated skin reverently.  
            Dean pulls his mouth back off of Sam’s cock with a wet pop that should be unappealing but is instead alarmingly sexy; his cheeks are flushed and his lips are swollen and shiny with saliva as he stares down at Sam, eyes moving over every inch of him hotly.

    " _God._ You are so fucking gorgeous, you have no idea." He rasps, moving up and over to cover Sam's body with his own and kiss Sam with a bruising intensity. Sam can taste the faint hint of himself in Dean's mouth, and he instinctively tries to spread his legs apart to allow Dean closer, but is thwarted by the jeans and boxers tight around his thighs. Stupid jeans and boxers which should just be magically fucking disappearing, because _Dean_ _is kissing him,_ and he wants him closer _now_. He whimpers, frustrated, and Dean pulls back briefly to yank them down the rest of the way, tossing them aside and coming back down between Sam's legs to claim his mouth again.

    “So fucking hot, I just wanna- do you want..?" He murmurs hotly against Sam's mouth, moving down and across his jaw, then to his neck; sweet little bites that he soothes immediately with his tongue. Sam whimpers in what his garbled, sex-fried brain is hoping is the affirmative, because _fuck yes_ does he want. Apparently he has managed to get his point across though, because Dean is no longer against him, instead struggling to get his own clothes off, shucking his over-shirt to the floor hastily, but getting a little caught up in trying to pull his t-shirt up over his head. Sam reaches up to help, yanking unceremoniously, desperate for naked Dean against him pretty much yesterday. They finally manage it, and Sam gets to enjoy a moment of wrapping Dean up in his arms, chest to chest, devouring his mouth feverishly. Then Dean is moving away again, and Sam does not understand why, and tries to approximate some sort of sound of displeasure and inquiry, trying to pull him back in close.

    "Sammy I just gotta... Hold on a sec,” Dean roots his hand around the floor in front of the couch, holding himself up awkwardly, halfway off of Sam with his other arm. Then he triumphantly waves a little bottle of lube in the air before moving to settle back between Sam's thighs. As he's leaning in for another kiss, Sam's upstairs brain interrupts again, clearly not having got the memo that it was _not_ invited to this impromptu get together _thank you very much_.

    "Wait- that…that wasn't here all day was it? Like when Bobby and the kids were down here and could have found it?" Sam questions anxiously. Dean freezes mid-lean, gazing down at Sam with impish grin.

    "Oh yeah, Sammy, _totally_. I thought it would be a great little surprise conversation starter if things got boring." He chuckles at Sam's ridiculously wide eyes and sneaks in a quick kiss. " _Of course not._ I’m kidding. It was in my shirt pocket. I grabbed it before I came back down from putting Ellie to sleep." He waggles his eyebrows at Sam. "Thought maybe I could try and get lucky for Christmas."

    "Oh, did you now. Without even buying me dinner or anything?" Sam laughs quietly up at him, finishing against Dean's mouth as he leans up to press his lips against his. He wraps his legs around Dean to pull him in tighter, but winces when rough denim rubs against the agonizingly sensitive tip of his cock. "You’re still wearing too many clothes. Get these off," He grumbles into Dean's mouth, pushing feebly at the waistband of Dean's jeans. Dean lifts himself off Sam just enough for both to get their hands between them and together they quickly fumble the jeans open and get them pushed down to Deans knees. Once they're that far, he settles himself back onto Sam, kicking the jeans the rest of the way off.

    “That’s a lot better.” Dean sighs into the crook of Sam’s neck, grinding his hips down against Sam’s just enough to make them both gasp.

    “Yeah …yeah it is,” Sam rubs his face in Dean’s hair, his hands roaming fervently over the muscled ridges of his back; one hand coming up to clutch his shoulder, and other gripping the sweet curve of his ass. They grind against each other tightly, sweat slicking the slide of their cocks against one another. Dean turns his head to capture Sam’s mouth with his own again; his tongue slipping expertly between his lips, and sliding perfectly against Sam’s. They breathe each other in, and let their tongues tangle together in a counterpoint to the thrust of their pelvises, instinctively finding the perfect rhythm after years of practice. Sam moans desperately into Dean’s mouth when Dean’s hand wiggles its way beneath them, and rub gently at the cleft of Sam’s ass. He pulls his mouth away from Dean’s just enough to pant against the side of his face.         

    “ _Please_.”

    “You like that, Sammy?” Dean breaths hotly into Sam’s ear as his fingers slip further, circling teasingly against Sam’s entrance. His hand moves away for a moment as he fumbles with the little bottle one-handed, before coming back, fingers slicked up.

      “ _Ohmygod, Dean. Yeah.”_ Sam keens quietly as Dean takes his lead and pushes two fingers in painfully slow, sliding smoothly and relentlessly until their as deep as he can get them. Then he’s rubbing insistently at that sweet spot inside and white-hot pleasure races up through Sam’s veins. His vision goes hazy-dark, and his skin suddenly feels too tight. Dean scissors his fingers with wicked intent, working Sam open slowly but efficiently and Sam can’t help but arch his spine and gasp sharply in awe.

    Dean is devouring his mouth, all demanding teeth and tongue, before he tucks his face against Sam’s neck, panting into his shoulder; delicately nipping at the hard plane of muscle. He grinds his own aching, swollen cock against Sam’s, the pre-come now steadily leaking from them both easing the rough friction just enough as he ruthlessly drives his fingers deep, caressing the bundle of nerves with every thrust. By the time that Dean slips a third finger in alongside the others, Sam is downright incoherent and babbling; an endless string of pleading words slipping out along with his desperate moans.

    “Fuck Dean, _please._ Want it so bad… I need- ” Sam gasps, licking at hands clutching  at Dean’s flanks tightly, slipping in the light sheen of sweat as he begs. Dean angles his head back and down, meeting Sam’s eyes with his own; pupils blown wide.

    “ _Want me to fuck you Sammy?_ ” He breathes heavily as he thrusts his fingers hard at Sam’s prostate, and Sam’s vision goes white. He’s pretty sure if Dean doesn’t fuck him in the next thirty seconds, he’s just going to break down and cry. Dean slowly drags his fingers out, scissoring them as he does, and Sam’s entrance flutters at the sudden emptiness. “ _Want me to stuff you full with my big hard cock?_ ” Okay, so if Dean doesn’t fuck him in the next thirty seconds, he’s _definitely_ going to cry. And come. Simultaneously. 

    “Fuck,” Dean growls, shifting awkwardly as he tries to lift Sam’s thighs up higher. Sam gallantly tries his best to wiggle in the direction Dean’s trying to move him in, but he’s sticking unpleasantly to the leather of the couch, and his efforts remain unsuccessful. Dean groans in frustration, dropping his forehead down against Sam’s. “Sam, this is so not going to fucking work.”

    If Sam whines in a particularly undignified manner, it’s really not his fault. He is, without a doubt, completely justified here, and should not be laughed at by certain people who will remain unnamed. 

    “Aw, Sammy. Still gonna fuck you, don’t worry. Just not here on the couch.” Dean chuckles and, with the hand he’d been using to prop himself up with, pats Sam’s cheek consolingly. Then he’s gone from above Sam, off the couch, and leaving Sam to gape stupidly after him as he strides across the room purposefully; cool as a cucumber despite his rather impressive erection. He throws open the chest beside the bookshelf and yanks out one of the thick comforters that they keep in it for lazy days spent on the couch. Then he marches back to the fireplace, and spreads it out on the floor in front of the hearth, thoughtfully tossing the throw pillows from the loveseat on top. He turns back toward Sam, who’s still sprawled dumbly on the couch, brain still pathetically dazed from the sexual speed-bump. Dean leers at him playfully.

    “You planning on lying there all night, Sweetheart? Cause as good as you look spread out like that, you’d look better over here on my cock.” That gets Sam shaking his head a bit, pushing off the cushions eagerly to practically tackle Dean down in front of the fire. He brings his huge hands up to cradle Dean’s head, tilts it backward for better access to his mouth, and kisses Dean like it’s going out of style. He sweeps his tongue in past Dean’s lips, swollen from rough kisses and the effort of sucking Sam’s fairly generous cock. He strokes over the smooth edge of Dean’s teeth and dips past them to twine their tongues together, savouring the unique taste that is unquestionably _Dean;_ nothing ever will, or ever has, compare to it, and he can never get enough of it.

    Dean growls low, pushing and manoeuvring Sam down onto the blanket, unsatisfied until Sam is sprawled out on his back, knees spread wide to bracket Dean’s hips. Propping himself up on one arm,  Dean slips his free hand under Sam’s left thigh and presses it up higher until Sam’s leg hooks around his waist. Then, suddenly he’s pushing into Sam, just as slowly and relentlessly as he did with his fingers; one smooth, endless thrust. He doesn’t stop until he’s buried completely, balls snug against the curve of Sam’s ass. He stays still for a moment, letting Sam adjust, and then he’s moving again; sliding out painstakingly before slamming back in again hard. Sam whines softly, the slight burn of being stretched open already giving away to white-hot pleasure. He grabs with fumbling hands at Dean’s head, drawing him close so that he can feather kisses all over Dean’s face. They rest their foreheads together for a moment, eyes drifting shut contentedly and breath mingling. The heat from the fire is warm against their skin, and the soft flickering light lends a dream-like quality. But this is much better than a dream, because this is real; _they’re_ real, and here, and _together._ Even heaven doesn’t have shit on this. And Sam would know.

    “God, I fucking love you.” Dean whispers, voice breathy and full of awe. It’s not something he says often, usually in only when they’re tangled up like this, but Sam doesn’t mind. He thinks of it as a reminder of how completely Dean lets go; gives himself over to Sam, to what they have. His mouth quirks at the sound of Sam’s pleased little hum, and he reaches up and runs a hand through Sam’s hair reverently. Despite all his bitching about Sam’s hair, it’s obvious in moments like this that he secretly loves it, because it’s _Sam_ , and Dean isn’t capable of _not_ loving every goddamn thing about him. And the feelings mutual, because at this point, Sam can’t even imagine not feeling this absolute, consuming love for his brother. Life and the universe begin and end with Dean, and Sam gave up on ever wanting it any other way a long time ago.

*** 

    Bobby eases his way down the stairs quietly, carefully avoiding all the creaky spots in the steps that he’s catalogued over the years. Damned if he wants to wake up one of the boys, get caught out here this time of night and have to explain what he’s doing. It’s a goddamn sorry point in a man’s life when he starts needing to get up in the middle of the night to piss like a toddler. But if he’s up anyways, he might as well see if there any of the cookies left out for ‘Santa’ are still lying around, and possibly check if any of Dean’s special ‘knock-you-on-your-ass-Nog’ is left lurking in the refrigerator. Might as well make the most of being awake, and he doesn’t see the nog in particular hurting his chances of falling back asleep sometime soon.

    He freezes when he hears a low, broken groan coming from the living-room. There’s only the barest glean of dying firelight coming through the entryway into the hall; either those two idjits left the fire burning unattended when they headed up to bed, or they’ve got a bigger problem on they’re hands. He creeps toward the archway silently, stopping at the discreet little hall cabinet to grab a revolver. He’s learned the hard way over the years that, when it comes to the things that go bump in the night; charging in, loudly proclaiming your presence may be the instinctual thing to do, but more often than not it gets you landed on your ass real quick. He can’t think of what in the hell could get past the protective measures he and the boys set up in and around this place, but if there’s anything else he’s learned it’s never to underestimate evil sons of bitches.

    What he sees when he peers around the doorframe isn't anything close to what he expected. And he’s actually pretty sure he’d rather be seeing something more along those lines of evil sons of bitches then what he’s getting an eyeful of instead. Dean and Sam; naked sweat-slick skin gleaming in the weak firelight, writhing against one another feverishly. Their quiet enough, but deeply enough lost in their own little world that Bobby’s thinking they might not even notice if there was a _convention_ of evil breathing down their necks, much less one old man with a gun playing unwilling voyeur in the doorway. Which is pretty typical in general of the pair of them when it comes to each other, come to think. That being said, he has no inclination to stick around and continue to take in the show.

    He hustles his way to the kitchen as fast as he can manage dead silently. And he thought he didn’t want to get caught wandering around before? He could go for a hell of a lot more of Dean’s nog now than he’d intended. In fact, he’s thinking he’d like to put its ass-knocking properties to the test.

    He's known for a little while now, ever since Ellie came along and he finally added it all up. It’s been long enough that’s it not really a big shock anymore. Where it used to be like a pulsing neon sign, flashing in his head constantly at every moment, now it’s been switched off and shoved into a dark, dusty corner of his mind. He knows it’s there, but he’d prefer to just leave where it is and pretend to forget about it. But knowing or suspecting is one thing, and seeing is entirely another _. Another that he could have really very happily done without._

*** 

    Sam arches his back, moaning hard as Dean finally reaches between them and wraps his hand around Sam’s painfully aching cock. It’s been rubbing against the smooth, sweaty plane of Dean’s abdomen the whole time, but that’s only just enough friction to drive Sam crazy rather than actually get him off. Dean twists his fist in perfect counter-rhythm to his pounding cock, and when he rolls his hips so that every other thrusts hits perfectly against Sam’s prostate, Sam is gone; mewling and begging, frantic words tumbling out of his mouth unconsciously. 

    “ _Pleasepleaseplease_. _Dean, god yes Dean_.” His eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure, but he wants them to be open; wants to watch Dean like this; take in as much of the moment as he can. He struggles to open them up, and can’t manage past narrow slits, but fixes his gaze intently on Dean anyways; devouring the sight of him all desperate and needy and demanding. Dean catches on fairly quickly, considering how distracted he is, and locks his own eyes with Sam’s. He’s chanting Sam’s name low under his breath like a prayer, muscles quivering with exertion. When he see’s Sam’s eyes beginning to lose focus, he homes in on it, pounding his hips against Sam’s just that much harder, every single thrust slamming home deep, grazing across his prostate mercilessly. Sam can feel his orgasm approaching, vaguely similar he imagines, to being stuck on the tracks in front of an oncoming train. But he wants so badly to drag Dean down over the edge with him, see him come before his vision goes and he’s nothing but a shuddering mass of sensation. He clutches at  Dean’s sides, his arms, his face, hands shaky, trying to touch as much of his brother as he can. He whisper-pants the words he knows always set Dean off, that always sweep him right off over the edge, repeating them over and over until they flow together. “ _Love you. Love you so much. So fucking much.”_

    And that’s all it takes. Dean drives in a few times desperately, before his thrusts stutter and he’s shuddering above Sam, pulsing spurts of heat inside of Sam. Sam’s gone from the second he glimpses Dean’s face; every sensation coming together with that view to shatter Sam into a million tiny pieces. His ass clenches tight around Dean’s twitching cock, muscles fluttering powerfully. He arches his spine to a degree just shy of painful, and spasms as his release shoots hot and sticky between them, all over Dean’s fingers and their chests.

    When the intensity subsides, they slump together, trembling softly. Hands caressing gentle and absentminded over damp skin, as they murmur inaudibly into each other’s flesh. Dean reaches down and carefully slips out of Sam, easing Sam’s legs down to a more comfortable position before settling back down on him, resting his ear over Sam’s heartbeat. It’s perfect and warm, and so amazingly blissful, and Sam isn’t aware when he drifts off to sleep until he’s being woken up by tugging hands. The fire is burned out, and it’s grown a little cool and dark in the room.

   “Come on Sasquatch. Let’s get you to bed.” Dean explains, as he pulls Sam to sit upright, tugging a shirt over Sam’s tousled head. Sam sleepily complies, fitting his arms through the armholes and letting Dean yank the hem over his belly. He accepts the shorts that Dean hands him wordlessly, and wiggles into them. Dean helps haul him up off the floor, and steers him to stand hazily by the door. He watches with hooded eyes as Dean bustles about the room, tiding up and collecting a small bundle of clothes in his arms. He recalls Dean being a lot more naked last he remembers, and he does not approve of these clothes that seem to have suddenly found their way back onto him while Sam was just resting his eyes for a moment, getting ready for another round. If it were up to Sam, Dean would not be allowed to wear clothes inside the house. Of course, considering the tiny horde of small people, and currently, one cantankerous old man, that they share the house with, maybe it’s for the best that Sam is not the one making these decisions. Which reminds him.

    “Don’ wanna go sleep alone. Hate sleepin’ withou’ you.” He grumbles childishly, pouting as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Dean wanders over, tossing the clothes into the corner hamper, clearly satisfied with his impromptu cleaning job. He wraps his arms around Sam, fingers working the faintly achy muscles of Sam’s lower back as he gazes up at him with soft eyes. 

    “Yeah, the past week’s really sucked, eh?” Sam nuzzles closer, stooping to drop his head to rest on Dean’s shoulder, snuffling against the warm skin of his neck. Dean reaches up to gently stroke the back of Sam’s hair. “Ah, what the hell. Come on, if he sees you, Bobby’ll just figure you came to my room with the kids in the morning. Doubt he’ll even be up as early as they will anyways.”

    “‘kay.” Sam hums happily in approval, letting Dean take his hand and guide him up the stairs to their bedroom. Inside, Dean tosses back the covers, and Sam crawls in, pressing his face against his own pillow blissfully. Their bed is amazing. After years of crappy motel beds, the luxury of finally having one to call their own was exciting enough alone; never mind that they found the comfiest goddamn one in the whole store. He misses the comfort of their bed _almost_ as much as sleeping next Dean whenever Bobby visits, and he has to sleep alone in ‘his’ room. Dean tucks the lube back into their nightstand drawer, and then scrambles in next to Sam. He huffs in pretend distaste when Sam snuggles in close, winding his gargantuan limbs around Dean happily. But he nuzzles his face against the top of Sam’s head when he thinks that Sam has already drifted back to sleep, and Sam can feel the smile against his hair. Breathing in comforting scent that’s no longer just Dean, but instead _them_ , Sam lets himself fall into the waiting arms of sleep.

***

    Sam’s feels pretty sure he just drifted back off moments ago when he’s being woken by the sound of little feet drumming over the floor, and small squeals that he’s sure could be defined as miniature battle-cries. He barely has time to blearily lift his head before there are small things landing on him unceremoniously, thumping down in less than comfortable places. Are they _aiming_ for the soft bits? There is a cacophony of excited-sounding noise; the recurring words ‘Dad’, ‘Daddy’, ‘Sammy’, ‘Christmas’ and ‘Presents’ jumping out at him specifically. Beside him, Dean is groggily trying to fight off the same invasion, looking adorably bewildered and drowsy, his hair sticking out every which way.

    “What- what _time_ is it?” He peers fuzzily at the clock. “Six in the...” He squints at the small figures clambering over him and Sam closely.

    “ _Oh my God!_ How did you get your sister out of her crib?!”

            Sam grins, drowsily content, a mild ache twinging in his muscles from last night as he pushes himself up to rest against the headboard. Leaning back against the pillows, he lets the noise and clamour wash over him. Small little bodies tumble over him, nestling in close, and he cuddles them cheerfully, breathing in the sweet smell of baby shampoo and sleep. He lets out a deep belly laugh when Dean waves his hands hastily, tamping down on the babble of excited explanation.

    “Actually, don’t answer that. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

    Sam meets Dean’s eyes over the tops of bouncing little heads, and Dean grins widely at him; sleepy but delighted. If Sam had to pick any moment, from all of his life, to live over and over again for eternity in heaven, it would be this one.

 


End file.
